


Spectrum

by PepperPrints



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: Boba wonders if, in Din’s mind, painting the Beskar would be akin to tarnishing it.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 11
Kudos: 235





	Spectrum

**Author's Note:**

> A small prompt request from tumblr that I forgot to share here - "Neon lights at 1.30am." 
> 
> Are the Mandalorian armour colour symbolisms still canon? Who can say.

Under the fluorescent lights of the dingy street, Boba watches Din. 

Silently, he observes him as the lights flicker. His Beskar remains pure and unmarked, and Boba oftens finds himself wondering at the significance. On another man, Boba might have called it a statement of arrogance. Beskar is a precious resource, especially in its purest form, and it’s certainly a declaration to display it so openly. 

In their time together, however, Boba realizes that this could not be further from the truth. Din Djarin is not an arrogant man. He wears the Beskar out of a sense of pride -- but not his own. It’s pride related to his tribe, to his people and to what the Beskar represents. He considers it an honour and displays it as such. Boba wonders if, in Din’s mind, painting the Beskar would be akin to tarnishing it. 

Here, though, under the neon lights, the armour changes colour all the same. The gleam reflects each light and flashing sign as they walk under it. A brilliant gold for the vengeful. Green for dutiful loyalty. Red to honour one’s parents.

Boba’s father is the only reason he can remember what each colour means. Somehow, his mind has clung to that detail, rather than cast it away with insignificance. He’s older now, and as the memories of his father get further away, some details begin to slip through his fingers. Not this one, though. He remembers sitting with his father as he repainted his armour, fixing damage done by blaster fire or close combat. He fixed the cold blue around his visor and told Boba about its origin: reliability. 

It felt like an unspoken promise that Boba could rely on him to come home. 

Jango never spoke about the grey as he patched it up, and Boba wisely chose not to ask. He knows the meaning now, and he thinks about it when he looks at Din.

Grey to mourn a lost love.

Unpainted, the Beskar is a gleaming silver not far from Jango’s very deliberate grey, and Boba wonders if Din realizes the agony that he unconsciously invokes. Somehow, by not painting himself in one colour, Din has made himself a prism for the entire spectrum: a strange significance for all that he has suffered and endured. 

Belatedly, Din notices his stare, and inclines his head towards him. “Is something wrong?” he asks, his voice soft behind the modulation of his helmet. 

The neon flashes him in white, impossibly bright, and Boba makes a noncommittal hum.

New beginnings. 

“It’s nothing.” 

Din doesn’t seem to believe him, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he nods, though he drifts a little closer to him as they wander further down the crowded street. 


End file.
